


infernal.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Consent Issues, Desperation, Dubious Consent, Heat Stroke, Ice Play, M/M, Non-Consensual, Power Dynamics, Sadism, Temperature Play, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster likes to stretch Loki between two extremes.





	infernal.

**Author's Note:**

> Request was for heat stroke!

Loki is dying.

He knows he is dying, and he can do nothing, nothing at all: his mouth is dry, his tongue so dry it feels as if it  _scrapes_  against the roof of his mouth, and he is trembling with every hitched, aching breath he takes in overworked lungs. His heart is beating hard, so hard he can feel the pump of his own blood in his ears, and he feels as if he is suspended in a pool of hot lava, feels as if he is  _drowning_.

He can feel the Grandmaster’s hands on him, an incandescent drag of fingers against his already overheated skin, and he is dimly aware, at the edge of his consciousness, that he is letting out low, aching sobs of sound.

He stopped begging with  _words_  hours ago.

Tears no longer come, for they have long-since evaporated where they run down his cheeks, and he can’t gag despite the gripping nausea in his head, can’t swoon, because the Grandmaster’s boiling magic grips him so tightly.

He feels the Grandmaster moan softly,  _decadently_ , against Loki’s lips, tastes the cocktail on his breath, and he feels the Grandmaster slip out of him. Loki whimpers his relief, and slowly, slowly, the inferno slides away from his skin. For the first time in hours, Loki gasps in desperate breaths that do not burn his throat, and he coughs as the Grandmaster lifts him up like a bride, carrying him from the too-hot bed.

He’s talking, Loki is dimly aware, cooing and murmuring over Loki as so often he does, but Loki can only hear his blood and the ringing in his ears, until he is doused in ice water.

Gripping tightly at the Grandmaster’s chest, he feels his seidr  _thrum_  to heal him, and he feels the ice drag over his skin like the most comforting blanket he’s ever known, soothing him, cooling him… No longer is he aware of the hard pit in his belly or the hard pump of his heart, but instead, all around him, he feels the glacial comfort of the water–

“There, baby, see? Didn’t I, uh, didn’t I tell you I’d, mmm, let you cool down after? Wasn’t that fun?”

“ _No_ ,” Loki says hoarsely, and then he coughs hard, choking on his own words where they tear ragged through his throat. And yet despite himself, how his hands grip tightly to the Grandmaster’s body, which ordinarily feels so very hot to the touch, and now feels like a relief.

“Mmm, don’t be… Don’t be  _ungrateful_ , honey,” the Grandmaster murmurs, his tone a warning, and Loki shivers. “I, uh– I could take you back to the hot room.” Loki buries his face against the Grandmaster’s chest, his cheek against his skin, and he shakes his head weakly. “Good boy, good– Aren’t you just, uh, the sweetest little kitten, huh? Head under.” He’s so gentle. After all that, after boiling him in his own skin, here are his gentle hands and soft words.

Loki cries, although he has no tears to weep, and he dips his head beneath the water.

Afterwards, the Grandmaster lays him out on an altar carved of ice, and Loki’s eyes flutter closed as he feels the slippery feeling of the Grandmaster’s ancient magic ring through his skin, healing him of his fatigue, his nausea, his agony.

Loki feels fresh and new where he lies back on the blessed ice, and he looks at the Grandmaster through lidded eyes.

“Now,” the Grandmaster purrs softly, and Loki’s lips part as he sees frost form on his lips: when the Grandmaster’s hands touch against Loki’s thighs, they are freezing, and Loki lets his legs fall open. “You get your– You get  _yours_ , huh, honey? It’s, mmm, it’s all about quid pro quo with Daddy.”

“You’re mad,” Loki whispers.

“Crazy in  _love_ , honey,” the Grandmaster replies, and his tongue touches against Loki’s cock, so cold Loki feels he will die with it, colder than he has ever felt anything, and so  _perfect_ … And Loki hates his traitorous body, so eager for pleasure after the torture it has endured. He hates the Grandmaster, to whom pleasure and torture are one and the same, when applied to somebody else. He hates, and he hates, and he  _hates_ –

But he arches nonetheless, and feels himself shake apart beneath the Grandmaster’s newly frozen tongue. 

( _He lies that night on a bed of eiderdown, and he stares at himself in the mirrored ceiling, covered over with dark bruises and bites. The Grandmaster lies beside him, and plays filthy patterns on his belly: Loki is languid and drunk with pleasure, his body exhausted in stark parallel to the heat exhaustion from earlier._

_He has never felt so good._

_He has never felt so ashamed._

_“What, uh, what’ll it be tomorrow, honey?” the Grandmaster asks softly.  
_

_“I’ve learned my lesson,” Loki says, as penitently as he can: he wonders if he means it, and he hates himself for knowing how possible it is that he does. Loki hates… Everything. Loki included. “I will take what I’m given.”_

_“Good **boy** ,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and he drags Loki into a kiss.)_

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


End file.
